


Set Me as a Signet

by Minutia_R



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/M, Sex Magic, Temperature Play, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Huh,” says Tuuri.  “So what you’re saying is that you, a mage with zero formal training and very little experience, want to draw some runes you just made up <i>on my body</i> and you can’t be 100% sure what they’ll do?  Does that sound in any way safe to you?”</p><p>“Sorry,” says Reynir.  “I guess it was kind of a stupid--”</p><p>That’s as far as he gets before Tuuri seizes his mouth in a hard, breathless kiss.  “It’s the stupidest idea <i>ever</i>,” she says, when she can tear herself away.  “Let’s do it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Me as a Signet

“I want to try something,” says Reynir.

Tuuri shifts on his lap. His hands on her thighs have gone from squeezing gently to squeezing nervously, and she combs her fingers through his fringe in a hopefully-reassuring way. “I like trying things. Although if it’s anal, I’ve got to say, it doesn't really do much for me, sorry. At least, not on the receiving end, and it’s not like we’ve got the equipment for me to fuck your ass, since _someone_ didn't want to share the stuff she found in that shop with her loyal subordinates--”

“Um.” As reassurance, Tuuri’s speech doesn't seem to have worked very well. Reynir is red from the tips of his ears to the base of his throat (and unfortunately dressed everywhere else). Cute, though. “Have I ever told you that your vocabulary in Icelandic is … really extensive?”

“Learned on a military base,” Tuuri informs him smugly.

“Right, so … I’m pretty sure you haven’t tried _this_ before. Since I’m the first Icelandic mage you’ve ever met. I don’t know if _anyone’s_ ever tried it, it’s not like I can … um.”

Tuuri giggle-snorts. “You were going to say ‘ask Onni.’ Weren’t you.”

Reynir doesn’t say anything, just goes redder, and his nails are digging into her legs now. Tuuri leans forward to muffle her laughter against his neck.

“‘Hey, Onni,’’” she gasps out between hiccuping laughs, “‘I was thinking of trying out some kinky sex magic on your sweet baby sister, got any tips?’ Oh, gods, can you imagine it? Sorry if I’ve killed your boner, but--fuck.”

“Okay, I get it,” Reynir mumbles into her hair. He wraps his arms around her in a hug, which is probably good news for her uniform pants, and it’s like a minute until her giggles die down and the heat of his blush fades a bit.

“No, but really,” Tuuri finally says. “What did you want to try?”

“So, you know how I’ve been working on my runes, right?” His embarrassment is forgotten; his eyes are wide and bright and earnest like they get when he’s talking about something he finds fascinating.

“”Yeah, I think the ghost-repelling one might need a little more work.” Which is a major understatement, but Reynir looks so crestfallen that Tuuri adds, “The pathfinding one worked really well, though!”

“So I was thinking … maybe I could draw some runes … on you?”

“Huh,” says Tuuri. “So what you’re saying is that you, a mage with zero formal training and very little experience, want to draw some runes you just made up _on my body_ and you can’t be 100% sure what they’ll do? Does that sound in any way safe to you?”

“Sorry,” says Reynir. “I guess it was kind of a stupid--”

That’s as far as he gets before Tuuri seizes his mouth in a hard, breathless kiss. “It’s the stupidest idea _ever_ ,” she says, when she can tear herself away. “Let’s do it.”

#

Unfortunately, that’s about the point when Mikkel comes back with a load of books for Tuuri to catalog, so they don’t get to try it right away. It’s a few days before they get another chance. During those days, Tuuri occasionally sees Reynir doodling a rune that has nothing to do with personal defense; she can tell by the way the tips of his ears go red when he catches her looking over his shoulder.

On another occasion, he interrupts her typing up a bundle of notes to whisper in her ear: “I’m going to need some ink. Do we have any?”

Now it’s Tuuri’s turn to feel her neck and cheeks heat up, and to squirm a bit in her seat when she thinks of what he’s planning to do with that ink. “Well, no. But I’ve got typewriter ribbons. If you soak them in a bit of water, you should get something usable.”

Of course, they haven’t got an unlimited supply of typewriter ribbons, and she’s going to face some uncomfortable questions if they run out. In a pinch, she can claim Lalli ate them, but at the rate he’s learning Swedish--which is great! And Tuuri’s so proud of him!--he might be able to figure out that he’s being accused of something, and protest his innocence. Inconvenient.

Well, Tuuri’s just going to have to collapse that bridge when she gets to it. For now, nobody will miss the extra ribbon but Tuuri, whenever she opens that drawer in the desk, with a tiny twinge of guilt and a whole lot of anticipation.

Finally, the next day, Sigrun commandeers Mikkel to help carry a load of books from a location that Lalli found. According to the route he’d marked on the map, it’s at least a fifteen-minute walk, out and back, and once you add in the time they need to select and pack up the books, and factor in Mikkel’s usual unhurried pace--well, it would be nicer if they had longer. But good enough.

Mikkel takes his carrying sacks while Sigrun waits impatiently by the door of the tank, and Reynir makes sure they have their protective runes with them--which Mikkel still insists on referring to as decorations. Tuuri figures he does it as much to needle Reynir as from any lingering skepticism. Usually it works, but today Reynir’s good spirits are proof against minor assaults like that. He just grins and tells them to be safe and waves at their retreating backs. Tuuri calls out to Mikkel to pick her up some books on mechanics and any foreign-language dictionaries he happens to find--mostly to needle him, because he knows very well what his looting priorities are and he doesn't need any advice from her.

Once they're gone, Tuuri and Reynir stand there smiling at each other for a few seconds that they don't actually have to spare. Then Reynir puts his hands on Tuuri’s waist and lifts her onto her toes for a kiss.

“I’ll meet you in the sleeping compartment in a minute, okay?” he says. “You might as well get undressed.”

“Yeah.” Tuuri’s voice comes out a little breathy, a little shivery. She's heard a lot of commands in her life, and what Reynir just said hardly counts as one. It’s just that she's not used to him taking charge like that. But she can hardly take charge, with this, can she? She's putting herself literally in his power.

She goes to the sleeping compartment while he stays behind in the office, and strips down as quickly and efficiently as she can, listening to him getting things ready--clattering cups, pouring water. It’s a little cold, sitting on her bunk naked and alone, but she resists the urge to draw up her knees or wrap her arms around herself. Instead, she leans back on her hands, rolls her shoulders back, and spreads her knees just a little. When Reynir comes into the sleeping compartment a minute later, carrying a pair of cups, he stops short and almost trips over his feet, liquid sloshing over his bare hands--clear liquid on the left, and dark on the right. “Wow,” he says. “Look at you.”

Because he hasn’t before, has he? They’ve managed to do a lot of things over the past couple of weeks, but getting naked hasn’t been one of them. They’ve seen each other in glimpses, clothing pushed aside hastily from the relevant body parts, always ready to be tugged back into place in case someone interrupted them. For a few seconds, Reynir doesn’t move, devouring Tuuri with his eyes instead. She can feel her skin warming under his gaze, even in the cool air. The only undressing he’s done is taken off his gloves, which is hardy fair, but Tuuri likes what she sees anyway--the flush in his cheeks, the strength in his hands.

He crosses the room to her in a single step, setting down the cups of ink and water on the floor by the foot of her bunk without spilling any more. He kneels by her feet, which brings his head about level with her chest, and Tuuri leans down for a kiss while Reynir runs his hands down her body, brushing her nipples with his thumbs, squeezing her hips.

“Okay,” he says, breaking the kiss, “the first thing I want to try--it’s like the stave we have on our root cellar back home?”

Tuuri leans back on her hands again, leaving herself open, as Reyinr dips his fingers into the cup of ink. “Preservation?” says Tuuri. “If you can manage that, you’re going to make a killing with every middle-aged fop in Mora. Torbjörn is going to turn green with envy.”

“Uh, no.” Reynir traces a dark circle around Tuuri’s nipple; his fingers are warm and steady, but the trail they leave behind is wet, cooling as it dries. Tuuri shivers. A straight vertical line down one side of her breast. A squiggly line next to it. “No, it’s just--cold.”

Before Tuuri manages to process what he’s just said, he adds a last line to the pattern, making it symmetrical, and it’s like plunging into an icy stream. “Ah!” she gasps.

“Sorry!” says Reynir. “Too much?”

Tuuri’s first instinct is to say _yes, make it stop_ , but--like plunging into an icy stream--it eases a little after the first shock. “No, it’s--it’s okay. It’s good.” Her heart is still racing, it’s still hard to get a proper breath, and it feels like all her skin has come alive at once. Maybe good isn’t the right word for the sheer exhilaration of it, but she can’t think of a better one right now. “Just--a little more warning next time?”

“Sorry.” It’s a perfunctory apology--not that he doesn’t mean it, just that he’s already onto the next thing, his fingers sliding along her other breast now. If they were warm before, now they’re searing. Tuuri only stops herself from leaning into them with the practice of a lifetime of caution around magic, the knowledge that if she makes him mess it up, things could get very bad. “The next one’s warm, right?” he says. “You just have to change this line from vertical to horizontal.”

So Tuuri knows what’s coming when he draws the final swirl of the figure, lifting his fingers off her skin just short of her breastbone. Which doesn’t mean that she’s prepared for the wave of warmth that sweeps from her toes to the roots of her hair, leaving behind a distant, floaty feeling, and delicious looseness in every muscle. Her eyes fall shut, and something between a murmur and a moan escapes her throat.

“So … I guess that worked.” Reynir’s normally-chirpy voice has gone deeper, thick and quiet, and Tuuri can hear him rinsing off his inky fingers. Then his hands are back, cool now in contrast to her heated skin, dry. They feel impossibly good moving down her ribs to her waist to her hips, and he isn’t drawing anything now, so she lets herself lean into him, rocking her hips up to meet his hands. He trails them to the insides of her thighs, then slides two fingers up inside her cunt, easy as dreaming.

“Oh,” he breathes softly, almost reverently. Tuuri opens her eyes to see his looking back, bright with excitement and dark with lust, one hand resting lightly on her thigh, the other one buried inside her. “You like it!”

“You’re incredible,” Tuuri growls, shifting to try and get more of his fingers. He takes the hint, pushing them deeper, curling them inside her, grinning his delighted grin the whole time. “Cocky little bastard.”

Reynir laughs and leans forward to nuzzle her neck, being careful not to disturb the ink on her breasts. “I don’t think the second two things really apply,” he says, almost apologetically. “But the first is nice of you to say.”

Tuuri would definitely come up with some sort of response to that, except that Reynir’s thumb is on her clit now, moving in slow, lazy circles. Which is just plain dirty cheating, and Tuuri will have to get him back at some point. Some point when she’s done melting into a human puddle, and she can hold a thought in her head besides _more_.

Then he takes his hand away, and Tuuri squawks in wordless protest, and Reynir is still grinning.

“Yeah, but you’ll like the next one, I think. If it works right.” He dips his fingers in the ink again, the fingers that have just been inside Tuuri, and he doesn’t clean them off first. Whatever he draws next is going to be drawn not only on her, but _with_ her. That’s--if Tuuri knew more about the grammar of magic, she might be able to say. It seems fearsomely strong, even compared to what he’s been doing. Tuuri isn’t even a little tempted to tell him to stop.

“It’s--pressure, I guess,” says Reynir, his eyebrows drawing together a bit in his difficulty explaining. His fingers are steady, though, as he draws a cool stripe across her belly. “It’s based on the other ones, and they worked, so this should be fine, but it’s a bit more complicated because it moves, you know?”

Tuuri doesn’t think he’s expecting an answer. He’d better not be, because first of all she’s not a mage, let alone an Icelandic mage. More importantly, she doesn’t want to think about anything except Reynir’s fingers on her, drawing patterns on her belly and thighs, the sight of her own body, becoming strange and strangely desireable, covered with thick black lines that put Tuuri in mind of eels, swimming sinuously through the secret depths.

Reynir adds the last curve right above Tuuri’s mound, a stray drop of ink soaking into her curls. He goes to wash his hand, still watching her avidly, but nothing happens right away, not like with the last two. Maybe it hasn’t worked? It’s disappointing, sure, but nothing happening is a fairly okay way for things to go wrong, all things considered, and they can still--

Something is stroking Tuuri’s thigh, hot and cold at once. Something is curling around her breast, licking lazily at the nipple. She can see there’s nothing there but the ink Reynir drew, but something is dancing along the nerves on the inside of her arm, playing them like the strings of some musical instrument, resonating deep in her belly. She gives herself over to the sensations, letting her head fall back against the wall, her eyes flutter closed. She can visualize them as eels, or the hands and mouths of a hundred lovers, but it doesn’t really matter, not even when Reynir’s own hands and mouth join them. She can barely sort them out from the rest of it; it’s all him, one way or another. Still, she’s pretty sure it’s his mouth hot against her pussy even through the heat of the spell, his tongue licking at her clit, soft and teasing at first, then more firmly when she grabs a fistful of hair and pushes herself against him. Her climax courses through her in time with the magic sparking along her skin, both of them ebbing together as Tuuri slides bonelessly down the wall, ending up sprawled awkwardly across her bunk. She knows the runes are as spent as she is when Reynir lays his head on her thigh, heedless of the ink there. Tuuri’s hand is still clenched in his hair. She opens it and pets him lazily instead.

“How much time do we have left?” she mumbles when she finally gets enough energy back for words. “I haven’t taken care of you yet …”

Reynir turns his head to kiss her hand. “Another time. I know you’re good for it. I got what I wanted out of this.”

Tuuri’s little puff of breath must sound incredulous, because he goes on to say, “No, really! You should have seen yourself, you were--and look, I used to go with lots of girls back home, boys too, and I’ve never met anyone who would have let me do _that_ to them.”

Tuuri sits up straighter and rubs her eyes. Reynir’s still fully dressed, but his clothes are rumpled, his hair is flying every which way, there’s ink on his cheek, and his mouth and chin are glistening with Tuuri’s juices. Adorable. “You didn’t know you were a mage then.”

“Yeah, but--still.”

“Their loss,” says Tuuri decisively, reaching for her bra.

“Don’t you want to rinse off first?” says Reynir.

Tuuri traces one of the lines on her breast with a finger. “Nah. One of the many advantages of black underwear. I’d rather keep these a little longer. It won’t do any harm, will it?”

“Well, no,” says Reynir. “But the magic is gone.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” says Tuuri.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Song of Songs, because, well, because.
> 
> I have wanted to write some Tuuri/Reynir smut for a while now, but I never really found an idea for it that interested me--until [page 545](http://www.sssscomic.com/comic.php?page=545) happened, and I was like, so, Reynir likes experimenting with runes, huh? Maybe he would also like sexy experiments with runes? And I figure, Tuuri's got a bit of a thing for danger, so if anyone was going to let him try it on them it would be her.
> 
> The line about collapsing that bridge when she comes to it is from the forum, but I cannot remember who said it and my attempts to track it down have been fruitless. If it was you, or if you know who it was, please let me know so I can credit!


End file.
